Fearful Fortunes and Terrible Tarot: Wonky Inn Book 4 Page 3

  “You are. Everywhere you go, everything you do. Look at the amount of trouble the village had when you invited that wedding party to your inn back in October.”

  “That was hardly my fault.”

  Lyle curled his lip. “Stay away, Alf. You’re not wanted.”

  I shook my head, exasperated. “Fine.”

  Lyle nodded. “Good girl. I’m going to brief my security detail so that if they see you anywhere near here, they’ll have carte blanche to take care of you.”

  I didn’t like the way he said that. Or, the unhealthy gleam of hatred in his eyes.

  “And that goes for your daft mate, Millicent, and that treacherous minx Charity too. You’re all barred.”

  “Mr Cavendish?” Kylie’s smooth voice called his attention. She was standing behind me. I wondered if she had heard any of what had passed between us. She gave no indication that she had. “We’d like to interview you in a minute, if we may?”

  “Of course, of course!” Lyle was all hale and hearty, smiles and charm now. “Come inside where it’s warm.” I narrowed my eyes as he disappeared inside. “May I offer you some refreshments?” I heard him asking.

  My fingers itched to cast a little spell to make him choke on his drink of choice, but I remembered what my mother Jasmin had always taught me. What you send out into the universe you get back tenfold. Instead, I stilled my restless digits, took a deep breath and calmed myself.

  There was no real need for me to feel slighted. I didn’t want to go to his smelly old Fayre anyway.

  “I have some bad news,” George said.

  The hand lifting my huge mug of hot chocolate topped with thick whipped cream, marshmallows and cocoa dusting, paused in mid-air, just short of my poised lips. I peered over the top of the mountain of cream. George certainly appeared troubled.

  “Oh no.” I frowned. “What’s happened?” Could this day get any worse?

  “I have to go away.”

  “Away? What? For a day? A weekend?” I returned my mug to its saucer and picked up my spoon. Maybe I’d try to eat the cream first. I stole a quick glance at George. He grimaced and shook his head.

  “What do you mean? None of those?” My voice sounded loud in the quiet café. Gloria glanced my way. “Not forever?”

  “No, no, not forever, silly.” George smiled. “I like that it sounds as though that would matter to you.”

  Was he fishing for compliments? “Of course it would matter to me.” I modulated my volume.

  He nodded, reassured. “I’ll be away for a few weeks.”

  “Oh.” I scooped a melting marshmallow and a blob of cream into my mouth. Mmm. Heaven. “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Oooh. Top secret!” I gushed, playing with him, but he didn’t smile back. I lay my spoon back down.

  “Not police business?” I asked, wondering why he was so reticent to talk about it. Did he have another woman somewhere?

  I caught his fingers across the table and clutched his hand fiercely. He stared at me in surprise, and returned the pressure, probably imagining I was worried to be losing him, but instead I reached out with all my senses, listening to the rush of blood in his veins, and the beating of his heart, feeling his pulse and the way energy flowed throughout him.

  I wanted to know he wasn’t stringing me along.

  After Jed I was taking no chances.

  Satisfied, I released the pressure and entwined my fingers through his, stroking the top of his hand with my free hand. I could sense no artifice within him.

  But he was troubled.

  I twisted my nose up. “We can Skype,” I suggested.

  He shook his head. “No Skype.”

  “Phone me then.” He shook his head again, glowering.

  Where on Earth could he be going where there was no Skype? You could Skype from the moon these days, couldn’t you? “It’s okay,” I said, disappointed but intent on trusting him.

  “But it’s your birthday. I wanted to treat you, and for us to do fun things.”

  My birthday. I thought of the letter, the death threat, hidden in the old folder in my desk drawer.

  ‘When spring begins, you will meet your winter.’

  George wouldn’t be here on the first day of spring. I didn’t need his protection, but I would miss his gentle support.

  “It’s okay,” I repeated. “It’s not a special birthday or anything.”

  “Every birthday is special.” George squeezed my hand. “And every day we’re alive is important. We should celebrate at every opportunity.”

  I tipped my head to him, and pulled his hand across to my lips, kissing his fingers gently. “You’re in a very reflective mood today,” I ventured.

  “I hate to let you down.”

  “Look, if what you’re doing is important then that’s good enough for me. We’ll celebrate when you get back.”

  He nodded. “It’s a deal.”

  “Lots of treats and lots of fun things,” I reminded him.

  “Lots.”

  I nodded. That would have to do.

  I returned to the business of demolishing my luxury hot chocolate, aware of his eyes upon me. I glanced up, dabbing at the corner of my mouth with a napkin.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said simply.

  The soft expression on his face melted my heart. “I’ll miss you too.” I was suddenly aware how much I meant that.

  Even on a grey and rainy day in the middle of March, Celestial Street had a certain magic to it.

  The brightly lit windows of the small shops glowed with bounteous warmth, illuminating the narrow cobble-stoned alley. The neatly ordered displays lured shoppers in with the excitement of brand-new goodies, deftly wrapped in brown paper and colourful ribbon by calmly magnanimous retail assistants. The enticing scent of freshly baked pies and cakes from the numerous bakeries called out to my taste buds, and my stomach rumbled. Four hours on a delayed train out of the west country to London and I felt hungry enough to chew my own arm off.

  The Full Moon was my destination today. Wizard Shadowmender had sent a missive—by unknown and unseen courier—ostensibly requesting the pleasure of my company. In reality, it was less a request and more a demand. No-one turned an invitation from Luca Shadowmender down, not without good cause.

  The public house buzzed with a mellow energy, fitting for the time of day. Staff were serving customers at the bar, and the tables were full of a rich tapestry of magickal folk gabbing over leisurely lunches.

  I queued patiently at the bar, as always admiring the fixtures and fittings, scanning the optics and the sparkling glasses. The bar had long ago been decked out in oak. Some mighty mythical tree that had fallen in a great storm had provided the wood for the counters and the uprights, the shelving and the hooks. Now the old wood glowed in the certainty that it was well-loved, it had been tenderly polished to a deep, rich, golden reddy-brown by the passing of time; the gnarled edges worn smooth, the knots lovingly caressed.

  I ordered a blackcurrant and soda water from a young and trendy witch behind the bar, so slim she would have disappeared had she stood sideways. She made me feel old, reminding me of myself, eleven years or so ago when I’d first started working in pubs in central London. Her face shone with the freshness of youth and the possibilities of life yet to come. She hadn’t encountered The Mori, or anyone remotely like them. But then, to be fair, she wasn’t fortunate enough to have a wonky inn keeping her grounded, either.

  She indicated I should make my way through to the back. Wizard Shadowmender awaited me there.

  I wound my way through chattering groups of witches and wizards, young and old and ancient. Some were cloaked, their robes dark and bland, their faces turned to the shadows. Others were brightly garbed, dressed in mundane clothes from the High Street. For my part, I dressed as always—in black from head to toe. No-one paid me any mind.

  I found Wizard Shadowmender and my lawyer Penelope Quigwell occupying a booth in a small w
indowless room at the back of the pub. Lamps had been lit in here, and the fire burned, casting a cheerful light around the room, but Shadowmender and Quigwell had deliberately chosen a private spot where we would be neither overlooked nor overheard.

  I slipped into the booth to join them and smiled my hellos to them both, curious as to why the old wizard had asked to see me.

  “How are you, Alf?” Shadowmender asked. “You look better than the last time I saw you. Not so fraught.”

  I laughed. “On the whole, things have settled down at the inn, now that we’re up and running.”

  “I hear Whittle Inn is doing well.” Shadowmender nodded at Penelope to his left. I was struck again by how this woman was made up entirely of angles: tight black robes and a long billowing cloak covered a skeletal frame, sharp cheekbones and perfectly sculpted hair. Today she was wearing small square glasses with blue lenses, perched precariously on the end of her pointed nose. Her expression didn’t change when Shadowmender alluded to her, but I saw her lips twitch and decided that was acquiescence.

  Perhaps she had shared my accounts with him. I sent her updates at the beginning of every month, which she passed on to an accountant. It helped us keep track of the finances of the estate. In return, she told me how much I could spend on the inn, or on the buildings in Whittlecombe, such as my cottages or Whittle Stores, all of which I had responsibility for.

  I nodded, reflecting on the inn’s performance. Interest in staying at the inn was growing slowly and bookings had been steady. I had collected several guests who’d already booked to return—several like Frau Kirsch for example—and there had been plenty of interest from ordinary mortal travellers over the summer season too. Word was getting around. Charity, Gwyn, Monsieur Emietter and my Wonky Inn Ghostly Clean-up Crew were proving their worth over and over.

  “Better than I might have hoped,” I answered thoughtfully. “And now I’m making inroads into the work that needs doing in the village.”

  “Progress is steady,” Penelope confirmed.

  She was a cold fish, but she certainly kept me in line. After a rocky start, I’d grown to appreciate her, although I had never really warmed to her.

  “That’s good news,” Shadowmender approved, then indicated the menu. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering lunch, Alf. I hope you don’t mind?”

  At that moment a waitress appeared with three steaming plates of food. She deftly placed one in front of each of us. A thin broth for Penelope, a Ploughman’s lunch for Wizard Shadowmender with a huge chunk of cheddar cheese and a large bowl of ploughman’s relish, and a steak and kidney pie with cabbage, mash and gravy for me. My mouth drooled. I glanced up at Shadowmender and his eyes twinkled at me. The lovable old rogue had known exactly what I would have ordered given the opportunity.

  I tucked in. “Sorry I was late,” I said between mouthfuls. “The train was delayed.”

  “I heard you passed your driving test?” Shadowmender replied.

  “Yes, I did. Not that I’d drive all the way up here.” You’d have to be bonkers to risk the South Circular around London. “No, I’ll let the train take the strain, as they used to say.”

  “Very sensible.” Shadowmender broke off a chunk of bread and chewed hard. “Any more sighting of our friends?”

  I knew exactly whom he meant by ‘our friends’. I shook my head. “No. All quiet on that front for a while, although in some ways that always makes me a little uneasy.”

  “The last time you saw them was in your tenant’s bedroom?”

  “No.” I shook my head, swallowing a piece of my deliciously rich pie. “I mean, yes, I did see them then, but I saw them again the night of the wedding we hosted at Halloween. There was one in the hedge. I thought it was fairy lights at first, but it definitely wasn’t.”

  “A big one?” Shadowmender asked, casting a quick glance around at people moving about in our general vicinity. I watched them too, equally filled with suspicion. You could never be too careful. The Mori were devious after all.

  I dropped my voice. “No. It wasn’t any bigger than a cricket ball. Much smaller than ones I saw before.”

  “And the one in the bedroom?”

  “About the same size.”

  Shadowmender nodded. “They could be probes, sent out to keep an eye on things.”

  That made sense, mostly. “But Derek, my tenant?”

  “You said he’d been dead for some time.”

  George had passed those details onto me from the pathologist’s report. “Yes, potentially twenty-four hours or so.”

  “It may be that Derek was killed by one of our friends,” Wizard Shadowmender said, “and one of the probes lay in wait, watching to see who would turn up.”

  “Presumably they didn’t know it would be me.” I swirled my forkful of mash into the gravy, trying hard not to think too much about Derek lying on the floor where I’d found him, with one hand stretched out, and his terrified Yorkshire Terrier making a bolt for the door downstairs.

  “No.” Shadowmender sat back, his bread and cheese forgotten. “Which has to make us wonder who else they thought might visit Derek.”

  That wasn’t something I’d considered. Now I thought about it, I could see that the orb hadn’t tried to attack me. It had just frightened me off, and then smashed its way out of the window. If it had been waiting for someone else, would it have delivered a message, or would it have killed that second person too?

  We finished eating in silence, minds whirring with unspoken thoughts, until the waitress broke the spell by coming to collect our plates. “Would you like dessert?” she asked. “The cheesecake is on special.”

  How could I resist?

  Coffee along with Wizard’s Cheesecake followed shortly. Chocolate biscuit base, white chocolate cheese mixture, blueberry compote that turned everything an alluring bluey-purple and a sprinkling of hundreds and thousands, all topped off with a fizzy sparkler.

  “Happy birthday, Alf,” Shadowmender said and tucked into his own piece. Penelope looked on as we munched, certainly austere about the number of calories she put into her tiny frame.

  When we’d finished, Shadowmender sunk back into his chair and rubbed his belly. “Too much,” he moaned, and I had to agree.

  I leaned forwards across the table. “Why did you ask me to meet you up here in London? It can’t have been just for an update about my sightings of spinning globes.”

  Shadowmender’s eyes darkened and he nodded, casting a quick glance at Penelope. He motioned for the waitress to clear away the plates, and we sat in silence as she wiped the table down before leaving us alone once more.

  Wizard Shadowmender leaned in closer, and Penelope joined the huddle. In a quiet voice the old wizard confided in me. “I need you to undertake a little mission for me, Alf. I considered asking Mr Kephisto, but I fear he is too old. I need someone a little younger with a dash more energy.” This seemed slightly unfair on Mr Kephisto. I wasn’t entirely sure how old he was, but he was as fit as a fiddle and extremely energetic for his age.

  “Penelope has managed to unearth some information that has us both worried.” He looked me directly in the eye. “What I’m going to ask you to do could be dangerous.” He held one hand up before I could interrupt. “It may not be and there might be nothing for you to worry about, but I can’t be sure. Nobody can. You will need to be on your guard.”

  I nodded silently, many questions forming on the tip of my tongue, but I knew Shadowmender would tell me everything I needed to know. “Alright,” I said.

  “You recall you sent us images of some documents you found in Derek Pearce’s cottage?”

  Of course. I’d found a folder in the corner of a drawer in his deceased son’s bedroom. Bank statements, with one large and recent deposit.

  “The deposit had been sent from a company called Astutus?” Shadowmender’s voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear him. He looked over at Penelope and she took the thread from him.

  “I’ve had a few people lo
oking into that company and it’s been very hard to track them down. On the one hand they’re a company in the public domain, but when you look more closely they are simply a façade, a shop front for something or someone else.” Penelope frowned. “I have some of the best researchers in the business. A few technical wizards with amazing financial acumen, and a number of business witches who can unlock anything with the right combination of spells and positive intent.” Penelope’s eyes flicked towards a movement in the booth behind me and we all waited. I held my breath, my fingers twitching nervily in my lap.

  When the people behind us left and the waitress finished clearing up after them, Penelope leaned in once more, so close I could feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek. “We finally though we were making some progress, that we’d found some accounts relating to Astutus, when suddenly every one of our machines downloaded a nasty virus and we were forced to abandon all tracking. By the time we managed to get our systems up and running again, Astutus and all traces of them had disappeared.”

  I nodded, a sharp pang of fear poking my innards. We were dealing with something seriously dark here.

  “All except for the records we had managed to download. This turned out to be the most recent bank statement from an account held in a bank in Switzerland. We’re looking into all the transactions listed on that statement – and unfortunately for us the statement was incomplete - but one that you should definitely know about for now, is for £10,000 paid on the first of the month to one Lyle Cavendish.”

  My mouth dropped open. “The landlord of The Hay Loft in Whittlecombe?” I gasped in quiet shock. There was the evidence, if we had ever needed it, that Lyle was directly involved in something decidedly dodgy.

  Penelope noted my expression and held a pale thin hand up quickly. “There are two things we can infer from what we’ve found, although we have to be careful that we don’t jump to conclusions without further evidence.” She flicked a beautifully manicured finger up in front of my nose, her nails painted blood red. “Firstly, Lyle Cavendish has received a payment from the same company that deposited money in Derek Pearce’s account. There may or may not be a connection between Astutus and…our friends…but it seems to be too convenient to be a coincidence.”